


Nightfall

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Or the build-up to it, Semi-Public Sex, Train Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:17:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry travels by train. Exciting things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FantasyFiend09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyFiend09/gifts).



> Dear Fantasyfiend09, I loved your prompts, and this is based on one of them (you'll probably see which one when you get to the end :)). I do hope you enjoy even though my interpretation of it may be a bit different from what you had in mind. Happy Holidays!
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely mods and to the wonderful Shiftylinguini for beta reading!

One of the best things about being an adult, Harry thinks as he struggles to walk through the aisle without bumping into anyone, is the freedom to take off to a place far away if he feels like it. Go on vacation somewhere abroad, somewhere no one gets bleary-eyed when they see him or looks at him with shameless adoration because of something he did years ago. Somewhere no one knows him.

He’s always had a special fondness for trains. Maybe it’s thinking back to his journeys on the Hogwarts Express. Maybe it’s the peaceful state of mind he finds himself in as he settles into his seat and lets the scenery outside his window travel by. Most likely it’s a bit of both. 

Seat 7A, by the window. He breathes a faint sigh of relief when he sees that the seat beside him is still empty. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to find two vacant seats next to each other in the crowded train, late as he is, as usual. A soft smile flies across his face as he puts his backpack down onto seat 7B.

As he sits down, Harry opens his backpack and rummages around before finding his book. He always carries a book with him when he’s travelling, although if he’s to be perfectly honest, it’s more because he enjoys the feel of the smooth leather beneath his hands than because he does a whole lot of actual reading. Usually it doesn’t take very long before he’s swept away by the outside scenery, letting his imagination run away with him.

It’s snowing outside, heavy snowflakes flinging themselves against the window. By the time the train gets up to full speed, Harry’s eyelids have grown heavy. He picks up his woollen sweater, tucks it between his head and the window and leans in. Within a few seconds his breathing has turned slow, steady and decidedly calm.

He can sense it before it happens. There’s an insistent prickling in the nape of his neck, a wave of anticipation building somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and he knows. Something is about to happen.

A finger taps his shoulder and Harry looks up.

“Is this seat taken?”

Harry finds himself looking into grey eyes, and something about the newly arrived man’s voice sends a shiver through his core. 

The elderly lady across the aisle sends him a suspicious glance, obviously wondering if Harry is going to refuse. The train is crowded, after all, and he supposes that she already finds him terribly rude for putting his backpack onto the seat in the first place.

“Of course,” he says, removing his backpack and letting it fall onto the floor. “The seat is all yours.”

The man lifts his luggage – a very elegant suitcase with an expensive-looking family crest attached next to the handle – onto the luggage rack and sinks down next to Harry in one, fluid motion. He puts a small bag onto the floor before hooking one leg across the other, letting his folded hands rest on his thigh and sits back in his seat, sighing contentedly.

Harry picks up his book again, pretends to read for a minute or so before sneaking a peek at the man beside him. 

His blond hair is fashionably tousled in a way that says not one single strand is where it is by accident. His clothes are impeccable. Grey trousers that caress his thighs, white shirt and a soft blue jumper where the sleeves have been folded just enough to reveal the beginning of slender forearms. He smells crisp and clean.

He looks good. Really, really good.

Somehow, Harry gets a sudden urge to see what the man would look like with his clothes a little less... smooth. Images of the blue jumper sliding up the man’s torso and the shirt no longer being neatly tucked away in his trousers fly through Harry’s mind. He imagines the shirt sliding up just enough to let him see a strip of skin on the man’s stomach.

Easy there, Harry. Think about something else. Anything.

He takes a few calming breaths and leans against the window again. It’s getting darker outside. Before he’s reached his destination it’s going to be pitch black. They still have a couple of hours to go.

The man beside him stirs. When Harry looks at him, he’s holding two mugs of tea in his hands. For a moment Harry thinks the man has conjured the mugs and looks around to see if anyone has noticed. But then he sees the thermos tidily placed on the floor between the man’s feet. 

“Would you like some?” 

He’s got a soft, lilting voice, though Harry can sense the sharp edges beneath the silkiness. This is not a man who’s easily flustered, and it takes Harry a moment to realise what exactly he’s been asked.

Oh, yes. Tea. 

“Thank you.” Their fingers linger a second longer than necessary when Harry accepts the mug. Is he the only one who can feel the spark? 

Harry is quite certain that he is not.

“It’s rather chilly here,” the man says once they’ve finished their tea. Harry feels warm all over, both from the tea and from the jumper-clad arm leaning against his own. He nods anyway and smiles to himself when his companion puts away the mugs and searches for something in his bag. When he sits up again, he’s got a blanket tucked into his hands. It looks huge and soft and inviting.

“I for one feel the urge to seek some warmth from underneath this blanket,” the man says, and Harry shivers. “Would you like to share?”

Once again, Harry can only nod, unable to suppress the anticipation that’s been building ever since the man sat down next to him. 

They pull the blanket over the two of them and curl up in their respective seats. It is actually a bit chilly inside the train, and as the unrelenting darkness creeps closer outside their window, Harry is almost certain that it’s just chilly enough to justify the blanket, also in the eyes of his fellow passengers.

And even if someone were to frown upon two grown men sharing a blanket a few feet away from them, Harry can’t find it in himself to worry about it. 

Not when he without any warning can feel a hand on his thigh, a hand that most definitely isn’t his own. Not when the warmth through his jeans makes the beat of his pulse quicken in an instant. Not when the man beside him starts breathing just a little bit louder, almost unnoticeably, but it’s there.

Harry has got to admit it. This whole thing seems to be a really great idea. Brilliant, actually.

Slowly, he puts his own hand on top of the one resting on his thigh and exhales. He’s acutely aware of the way he breathes. How long is it normal to inhale before letting go again? Right now, Harry is unable to tell. 

He glances around at the other passengers around him, wondering with a rush of unexpected exhilaration if any of them has noticed what’s going on. They all seem to be busy reading or listening to music or being lulled to sleep by the bump-bump-bump of the train, blissfully ignorant of curious hands underneath the blanket a few seats away from them. How could they not be aware? The air is practically quivering. 

When the hand below his own gently begins to massage his thigh, he has to suppress the sudden urge to giggle. This is surreal. And yet, it’s exactly how it should be. He looks back at the man beside him, struck by how his grey eyes seem darker than before. Unhurriedly, the man moves his hand away from Harry’s, sliding it towards Harry’s inner thigh, letting long fingers tease the seams of his jeans. With the pace of someone who’s got all the time in the world, he shifts his hand and moves it upwards. Harry squirms, just a little bit, grinding his teeth together to stop himself from making what would undoubtedly be very suspicious noises, but it’s getting increasingly difficult to sit still when firm fingers finally, _finally_ , find their goal and cover his aching erection. 

Harry’s breathing speeds up as the man continues to touch him with surprisingly light, but still no-nonsense movements that do nothing to ease the rapidly building tension. And then he leans closer to Harry. Warm breath ghosts across Harry’s neck. He can vaguely hear someone folding their newspaper and the muted screech when the train driver must’ve pulled the breaks before a particularly sharp turn. 

This is becoming unbearable. Harry craves more, he needs more, and even though the two of them seem to have gotten away with this for now, there’s only so far it’s possible to go with people surrounding them and only the blanket as a shield against prying eyes.

Harry is certain the man is going to say something when he’s leaning in so close he’s practically nuzzling Harry’s ear. Yet he’s still unprepared for the insistent whisper that says, “Let’s get off the train at the next station, shall we?” 

Sweet Merlin, yes. Harry has no idea where the next station is or how he’ll eventually get to his original destination, but in this moment those are questions of minimal importance. 

“Great idea,” he whispers back, and he can practically feel the smirk from the mouth next to his chin.

“There’s a stop in just a few minutes. When the train leaves that station, we are not going to be on it,” the man says as he slowly moves his hand away from Harry’s crotch and starts tucking the blanket away more neatly than Harry would’ve been able to right now. “I feel confident that I’ll make it worth your while.” 

Harry shares his confidence, doesn’t even consider rolling his eyes at the bold statement. He can hardly sit still as the train starts to slow down, anticipation taking over his mind, almost making him forget about his backpack lying on the floor. The thrill from his impulsive decision is more powerful than he could’ve imagined. 

In a moment of clarity, he bends to pick up the backpack, smiling to himself. The train gets to a halt, and the two of them walk towards the doors as dignified as possible given the circumstances (there’s not been nearly enough time for Harry’s insistent hardness to relent). 

A few seconds later, the train has stopped, the doors are open and the two men step into the dark evening outside.

***

“So, are you ready to admit it now?”

Harry has to concentrate simply to keep standing as his knees are still a bit shaky, his breathing is still a bit heavy, and it’s surprisingly hard to focus on tucking his shirt back into his trousers. Still, there’s no missing the glee in his partner’s voice.

“Oh God, Draco, fine. I admit it. You always have the best ideas.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

They pull their coats closer around themselves and walk back to the station building where they left the luggage. It’s quickly getting colder, it’s still snowing, but the warmth that started spreading in Harry the second Draco sat down next to him on the train still lingers and keeps the cold at arms’ length. 

“I never thought it would seem so real,” he says as he sinks down onto his backpack. “The whole pretending-to-be-strangers thing. But it did.”

“It did. And when you insist on dragging me away to some primitive, forsaken cottage in the middle of nowhere for Christmas, I think a little innocent role play is the least that I deserve.” Draco throws his arm over Harry’s shoulder. “The less innocent role playing can wait until we get to the cottage.”

Harry is unable to suppress the soft tremble in his insides, and he doesn’t even want to try. 

“So,” he says after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “when does the next train come?”

“Yes,” says Draco. “About that. I may, in the heat of the moment, have forgotten to check that particular detail before we went off the train.” 

He locates what seems to be a timetable on the station building wall. Soon, he clears his throat and turns towards Harry with an uncharacteristically sheepish smile. 

“It seems we’re stuck here for a while. Sorry about that. I hope you still think it was all worth it.”

Harry stretches his legs out in front of him, finds a comfortable position and reaches for Draco’s hand.

“It most definitely was, Draco. It most definitely was.”

So they have to wait a while. Big deal. Right now, Harry is more preoccupied with how soon they can do this whole thing again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very much appreciated here or at [LiveJournal](http://hd-owlpost.livejournal.com/).


End file.
